


A Sunrise Over The Sahara

by ALittleWrath



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Genderfluid Crowley, I mean all angelstock are agender OBVIOUSLY but Crowley is special, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 10:11:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19148935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ALittleWrath/pseuds/ALittleWrath
Summary: After the End of All Times, Crowley feels the need to make some changes.





	A Sunrise Over The Sahara

**Author's Note:**

> Alright just a heads up I wasn't sure whether to tag this with the book or the show...? Cos I do mention The Thing That Only Happens At The End Of The Show briefly but also I tried to stick moreso to the characterisations in the book? So basically its just a tiny mess. Anyway it doesn't matter because we're all here for the same reason aren't we: We Love A.J. Crowley. Have fun.

"Angel?"

It was two days after the Apocalypse That Wasn't•, and they were still in Crowley's flat together. Not that Aziraphale couldn't go home, now that Adam had restored the shop to it's almost-former-glory, but rather that he just… Hadn't.

Presently he was sat on Crowley's white leather sofa, which he thinks he may be the first person to do so, flipping through one of the few novels Crowley owned.•• He looks up when Crowley enters from the bedroom, dressed in only a black t-shirt and his boxers.

"Yes, dear?"

"Could you give me a hand? I need a miracle."

Aziraphale scoffs, affronted.

"Do you really think now is the time for me to be using my grace to perform miracles?" He asks. "Immediately after the stunt we pulled yesterday?"

"And what? You're just never gonna do one again? It's as good a time as any, come now, quick as you like."

Aziraphale sighs, dropping the book on the coffee table, and walks over to where Crowley stands.

"What is it you require?"

"My hair." Crowley grunts. "Want it long, can't do it myself."

"That's  _ it?  _ Crowley, I really insist that I cannot be performing frivolous miracles-"

"Alright," Crowley interrupts, "lemme put it a different way,  _ need  _ it long."

" _ Need  _ it long, why on earth would you need it-  _ oh." _

"There it is."

"But…" Aziraphale starts tentatively, "it's been such a long time."

"Yes it has, now get on with it."

Aziraphale folds his hands, cautiously planning how to phrase the only question on his mind. What comes out is a gentle,  _ "Why?" _

"Well, as you said." Crowley explains.  _ "It's been such a long time.  _ Feels about time for a change."

"Yes- yes of course." Aziraphale says, allowing an excited smile to overtake his face. It isn't that he prefers Crowley one way or another, it's just that he almost can't remember the last time Crowley's changed this way. He'd started missing getting long periods of it as early as the sixteenth century, and hasn't seen it for even a day since Marie Antoinette. He isn't sure  _ Nanny Ashtoreth  _ counts- Crowley had kept it to a minimum, only in front of Warlock and his family, and hadn't seemed to enjoy it so much.

Aziraphale takes a moment to take in Crowley as he is now- how _ handsome  _ he is, standing there in his boxer shorts, short hair. The impatient frown on his face. Finally, Aziraphale steps forward so they’re mere inches apart, the warmth of Crowley's breath tickling Aziraphale's cheek, and moves his hands up around Crowley's head- but pauses.

"How do you want it?" He asks, "shoulder length? Longer?"

"Let's go all the way," Crowley says, "Back to how it was when we first arrived on earth."

_ "With the curls?"  _ Aziraphale asks, maybe too excitedly.

"Wouldn't have it any other way." Crowley finally smiles too.

"Marvelous!" Aziraphale breathes, before finally letting his fingers tangle with Crowley's hair. Once they're firmly situated between locks, he combs them downward, and the hair follows. Before long, he's running his fingers down long, silken coils of crimson, reaching just past Crowley's shoulders.

"Ah, much better!" She says, pulling her hair back and flipping it out as Aziraphale steps back. She gives him a teasing smile.

"Thank you, angel." Crowley says, leaning forward and giving him a peck on the cheek.

"Of course." Aziraphale says, blushing. "What will you wear?"

"You'll just have to find out, won't you?" She says, disappearing back into her room. Aziraphale smiles, wandering back to the sofa. He tries to resume his book, but finds his thoughts periodically wandering back to the demon on the other side of the door.

After about two pages of reading,••• Crowley re-emerges. She's dressed in a silken black scoop neck with flowing sleeves that have long slits up them, a lightly ruffled, swooshing skirt that doesn't quite make it to her knees, complete with jangling trim, black leggings with open sides, and her usual snakeskin boots. She's wearing a touch of red lipstick, a scarf tied up into her hair and one medium hoop earring, and lots of bangles. The whole ensemble evokes the air of some nomadic psychic, and Aziraphale gets oddly nostalgic for Munich before the industrial revolution. She leans on the doorframe, apparently waiting to bask in a shower of compliments, but Aziraphale can tell from her shoulders and her jaw that she's feeling quite nervous.

"As beautiful as a sunrise over the Sahara." Aziraphale says with certainty. Crowley grins.

"So where are you taking me?" She asks, as Aziraphale comes forward and links his arm with hers.

"Well," He says, indignant. "You'll just have to find out, won't you?"

 

* * *

  
  
• Aziraphale had tried to call it  _ Ragnawrong,  _ but Crowley had glared so harshly at him he'd filed it away.

•• While Aziraphale had a penchant for prophets and religious scholars, Crowley's bookshelf was surprisingly politically charged.

••• He probably could have gotten about six in, had he not been so distracted.


End file.
